


autumnal

by fictornikiforov



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, First Time, M/M, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictornikiforov/pseuds/fictornikiforov
Summary: Viktor's POV on some Viktuuri shit. Includes smut. Written pre-ep 7 so some stuff is wrong. This was originally posted as "He!!!!!!" so if you were wondering where that went, I made a new account. Don't give me away!!!





	

 

            He said he wants to be hated as the person who stole you away from the rest of the world.

            You just want to be known as the person who was stolen. You want the world to know that someone still cared after you took your skates off.

            You were never one for those kinds of dramatics before. Maybe he changed you. Or maybe he just brought it to the surface. You didn’t have anyone to base those kinds of dramatics around before him. You know you never really show that kind of emotion, but it’s there. The intensity has always been bubbling under your skin. There’s so much more than nimble grace and sex appeal. There’s more than sensuality and extroversion. There’s a part of you that can’t – or doesn’t – hide how much you care. It’s just that no one really saw that before Yuuri.

            When everyone else gave him grief – when other skaters, so many of whom Yuuri regarded as _better_ than himself, told him to give you up, to give you back, it was like he blacked out. You watched him stand and stare, as if he hadn’t heard a word they said. But you knew he did: he grew into himself, into his face, into his lips. He grew into that little smile that would spread across his face, vindicated and arrogant and listless. He was never going to give you back. But you didn’t want him to.

            Of course he still seemed to second-guess himself often, and he’d never actually acted like he owned you. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that kind of stealing. He didn’t deny your autonomy. And yes, when it came down to it, he’d never stop you from leaving, which is a little scary, because you don’t know if you should or not.

            He cares about you after you take your skates off. You wonder if that’s the kind of thing to stick around for. It’s definitely the kind of thing that you’ve been looking for.

            And more than that: he cares about you after he takes _his_ skates off.

            The first time was rushed and awkward and fervent but it’s seared into your memory forever. That was the first time he ever gave you that _look –_ that look he developed, that look of _eros_ but even more than that, of _storge._ He was calling you out. In front of everybody, he was staring you down, breathless on the ice, telling you: _You’re mine. If you want me, I’ll take you. In every way possible._

            Once you were alone, he didn’t waste any time getting you against a wall and the shy Yuuri you knew before was gone – not missing, just taking a backseat at the moment. He threw your coat off and pulled on your tie hard – a preview of things to come – and ran his lips against the side of your face. He was in his jacket by then, but you could see the t-shirt underneath clinging to his torso. His lithe and slender torso that you admired, but suddenly realized you’d want pressed against you no matter how it looked. His body drove you crazy when you watched him skate, competitions being especially difficult as you were only filled with anxiety when his performance began but as it continued, you were filled with – other things.

            You wanted him to win. He deserved to win. You didn’t want anything muddying the purity of his skating. But you were probably the maker of your own undoing when you chose _eros,_ of all damn things.

            He was frenzied, wilder and more animalistic than you had ever seen. It was like he wasn’t in control of himself anymore. He’d been waiting so long and he didn’t want to wait any more. You didn’t either. You didn’t expect him to feel that intensely, but you didn’t want to wait either.

            He kissed you before he really said anything. It was your first kiss and it happened too quickly for you to see fireworks, but the memory is more than enough to make up for that. Your first kiss was more like a series of fast but lingering kisses, the kind where he gripped your throat and chin and face and held you right where he wanted you, pressing his lips against yours and sighing into your mouth until he had his fill, then tilting your head the other way and starting over again. Your hands clung to his hips but he was too scattered for you to keep up with. You would whine every time he pulled away, never being given the chance to really kiss him back. You would thrust forward and try to kiss him first, but he wouldn’t let you.

            Most people would have been shocked by this Yuuri. But you knew it was only lying dormant inside him the whole time.

            Just like you. Just like the inclinations inside you that called for theatrics you weren’t used to. Getting drunk, waking up with no clothes on, shrugging it off and continuing on with your day – that was the Viktor people thought you were. Lacking confidence yet frustratingly talented was the Yuuri people thought he was. And both of you _were_ those people. And are. But there’s more, and you don’t know if you both saw right through each other on day one, but in any case, it didn’t take long.

            He said the most shocking, embarrassing, flattering things; things that made you clench your jaw and look away, things that made you flush beneath him and whimper through your teeth. They weren’t shocking because they were unexpected though – you knew Yuuri. You knew this was inside of him always. They shocked you because you’d heard them your whole life, in one form or another, but never with the sincerity that you craved. _“You look so good out on the ice, and here in my bed.” “You’re my idol; you’re my inspiration.” “All I’ve ever wanted is to meet you.” “Wouldn’t it be something to be the one who settles down with Viktor Nikiforov?” “He skates with the natural sex appeal that only a truly sensuous person could find within themselves.”_

            Those things felt good to hear, but they were, as cliché as it was, fleeting.

            Yuuri wasn’t fleeting. Yuuri had a warmth about him from the first moment you saw him that set you on edge. He was real; he was genuine; he was sincere. He wanted to be the one who stole you from everyone else, but he wasn’t planning on keeping you to himself.

            Before you met him, he may have been just another fan, albeit a massively talented one. But they day you finally met him, something clicked inside you. Remembering the hot springs is almost embarrassing now, but you’re sure it wasn’t a show. That was you: the man who had no problem with his body, and the man who had no problem letting his sexual inclinations known. It’s embarrassing now because you care. You care about Yuuri too much to let him think he was just another conquest; another person whose fantasies you had to confirm and validate.

            You sat on your couch with Makkochin the first time you saw his video. Your heart was racing in seconds. You could hear yourself breathing in your own head. There was something about Yuuri’s body that understood. Something about his body was connected to you, to your routine, to your body, too. You felt hot behind your eyes. It was the first time in a long time that something had moved you so much, especially something in a world that you were losing grip with.

            You loved touching Yuuri. You loved when Yuuri touched you. When you think back on how passionately he wanted you that night, your heart races again.

            It was because he was willing to admit it:

            He wanted to be the one who stole you away.

            No one else had ever really admitted it before. It just simmered under the surface of almost every relationship you had. Professional, familial, romantic, sexual, platonic: they wanted to be a part of your legacy. They didn’t want to be a part of you.

            Yuuri’s fervor that day proved what he wanted:

            You.

            But all of you. He knew you before he’d ever met you. And you were never one for those kinds of dramatics. But under the surface, you were always kind of romantic.

            “I’ve waited so long,” he said, still pulling on your tie and speaking against your cheek. He was breathless from kissing you and you were breathless from the shock. “I can’t wait any longer. Can you?”

            You didn’t have to think. You shook your head and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You kissed him again, and then were both on the bed, Yuuri ripping at your jacket and button up, desperately trying to see all of you, even though he already had. He’d seen all of you the first night you met – he’d seen all of you countless times since then. But he wanted it again, he wanted it more, he wanted it like _this._

            Before, Yuuri saw your body and his eyes would dart away. Then they’d slowly travel back, and you asked once why he was so embarrassed if he was used to this in his culture. He didn’t really answer you, because he didn’t want to try to explain. You were too forward. You were always too forward. You knew that. You knew that you were always too forward but somehow, you could never stop. People wanted you, but when you gave yourself up, they would ridicule you.

            Yuuri didn’t ridicule you. Even when he was unsure and uncomfortable, it was never to humiliate you. When he’d pull away, it was because he was nervous, not disgusted.

            That. That may have been the sincerity you saw in him.

            He wasn’t going to ask for you to give yourself to him just to be annoyed upon finding out that you would. He didn’t find you disconcerting or inappropriate. He was the opposite. He was worried that you might find _him_ revolting or inadequate. No one else had ever really worried about that before. No one else had ever really wanted your personal acceptance. They wanted you to approve of them; they wanted you to admire them. They didn’t care if you accepted them.

            Yuuri desperately wanted you to accept him; you desperately wanted to show him how much it meant that he accepted you.

            “I’ve had your posters on my walls for so long,” he said, finally getting your suit jacket off your arms and onto the floor. “All I’ve ever wanted is to skate. All I’ve ever wanted is… to skate with you.” He kept pawing at your clothes and kissing at your cheeks as he spoke. “At some point… that admiration turned… into another kind of – no. Not ‘turned.’ I never stopped looking up to you.” That made you almost tear up. “But as I got older, there was another… kind of… admiration. It developed alongside the first one. But… that one didn’t matter as much to me. It was nice. But it was nothing compared to… you.”

            That was when you did tear up. You tried to say his name, but it only came out as a silent sob. You both gripped each other’s face and kissed one another, once, twice, then Yuuri frowned at you.

            “So much of… this…” He put his hand on your ribs and circled his fingers around your shirt. “So much of this is because of…” His hand trailed down to your belt. “This. But… it’s also… because of…”

            He was incoherent and he knew it, but you understood every word: he wanted to have sex with you because he was attracted to you – to all of you. There was something in your body that he understood. It was the same feeling you got the first time you saw his video; it’s the same feeling you have every time you watch him on the ice.

            You weren’t one for those kinds of theatrics, but that was when you first realized you believed in soulmates.

            You told him he didn’t have to keep talking; you knew what he was saying, and he turned ravenous once more so quickly that you didn’t have much time to think about anything else but his body. He was undressing you so hurriedly that you could hardly speak, not that you had anything to say. He wanted you so bad that you were speechless; he wanted you so bad that he couldn’t wait another minute and for all the compliments, for all the praise and admiration, all the respect, all the flirtations and the assurances and come-ons, for all the propositions and confessions, for all the love you had to sift through your whole life – that was the first time you felt like someone actually wanted you.

            Yuuri wanted to steal you from everyone because they thought they possessed you in the first place.

            Yuuri just wanted to give yourself back to you.

            You were actually human to Yuuri. Yuuri loved you the way someone is supposed to love their partner. Of course he loved consuming you. He loved to watch you skate. But he loved giving himself to you afterwards. Everything he does with you, he does halfway.

            You’d never had a detailed conversation about your sex lives before. You knew Yuuri was not the shy and nervous virgin people seemed to think of him as – not that you had any problem with shy and nervous virgins. You knew he was aware of what he was doing, but you weren’t sure of just what he’d done before. Had anyone ever been inside him? Had he ever actually been inside anyone else? Had he always known whom he wanted? Had he ever been in love?

            You didn’t really care about the answers, so you never asked. They wouldn’t have changed anything, other than maybe just how safe you felt beneath him. He knew how not to hurt you while trying to have you as quickly and as fervently as he could. He cried out more than you did when he had his fingers inside you, maybe because his ecstasy had simply hit the limit and he was starting to explode. But he didn’t let that stop him from going as slow and as gently as he could; one, then two, then three – then four fingers inside you, gradually and softly and exploring every part of you that your body gave out. Your voice shook within your throat and you started to beg him to go on, to put the rest of himself inside you, and he nodded at you in pain.

            “I want to,” he breathed. “But I want this to last as long as it can, too.”

            You’d never really been at a loss for words during sex before Yuuri. You stared at him in agreement for a few moments, then turned the corner of your mouth up slyly.

            “But even at the end, when we’re spent and tired, there’s still next time to look forward to.”

            Maybe sometime in the future, Yuuri will tell you exactly what those words meant to him, because his face turned into an expression you’d never seen. You’d definitely struck a nerve – a good nerve, one that obviously necessitated a change in pace to keep him from crying. He breathed out loudly, a small, _“Hah-h,”_ escaping the back of his throat, as if against his will. You weren’t sure what that meant to him besides the assurance that there would be a next time, but it seemed to matter to him, and that was the second time you realized you might believe in soulmates.

            He had to pull his fingers out then in order to continue. He had to move on from those words or the whole thing would have broken down right then. It was quick and you gasped at the loss, craning your head back slightly and wincing as you watched him grapple for the lube and the condom. He was so hard that he had to struggle with his sweatpants, finally lowering them to reveal his erection, and biting his bottom lip hard as he put the condom on. Your legs were up in the air, knees hooked over his shoulders, and you’d never really had a preference for sex positions until that night. You liked looking him in the eyes.

            You liked looking him in the eyes, but something was missing.

            As he was spreading more lube down his cock, he sat up slightly and reached to the bedside table. You grabbed his glasses with one hand and he looked at you in confusion.

            “You can’t see me, can you?”

            “Won’t they get in the way?”

            “No,” you told him. “I want to know you can see me.”

            His hair was still slicked back for the most part, though the sweat and physical activity had several tendrils flopping forward. You loved _eros_ Yuuri. You loved his hair pushed back and his bare eyes confronting you; you loved the skintight outfits and the affected stares he’d give his opponents. That was Yuuri. That was just as much Yuuri as pork cutlet bowls and thick glasses and long, messy hair hanging into his face. You loved Yuuri. You wanted him to know that. You wanted him to know that you saw who Yuuri was and you loved him.

            He actually started to cry when he was thrusting into you, less out of emotion and more out of the physical relief of friction against his straining cock; you had never felt more desirable than when Yuuri was leaving marks on your neck and flicking his hips sharply in and out of you. It was physical; it was sex. You wanted Yuuri to fuck you. And Yuuri wanted to fuck you. Next time maybe you’d fuck Yuuri, but either way, you _wanted_ him. You loved him and you _wanted_ him.

            You wanted to steal him away from the world, too. You wanted to be a two-fold legacy. You wanted to go down in history as the couple whose reputation preceded them. The ones who found each other through their craft and never stopped wanting each other until the day they died.

            Yuuri’s hands were slippery as he tried to hold you down against the bed. He was unraveling so fast that he became primal and raw; he was keening into your skin and your body that used to take up so much room in the world was suddenly small and bundled. You were hugging him against you and he was protecting you with his own form.

            Not a single part of you wondered how long it was going to last. To this day, not a single part of you wonders how long this is going to last.

            He apologized to you afterwards because he came first, he came too fast, he wasn’t focusing on you well enough, and you laughed at the Yuuri you knew so well. “Shit, that was embarrassing,” he muttered, covering his face with his hands. “You looked like – I can’t describe how good you look when you came. I just… screeched and turned into a – I don’t know. I’m too tired to come up with a good comparison.”

You traced along his jawline with your finger, staring at him as you lay on your side, your other arm propping up your head.

            “You know that I can’t help but admire your body sometimes too, right?”

            He turned to you and frowned.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Maybe I’m not the most beautiful skater in history.”

            He whined loudly and pushed you away, turning his body over and planting his face in the pillow, crying out in embarrassment. You sat up a little to whisper in his ear that you still needed to clean yourself up as long as the two of you weren’t going to make another mess, and how wide his eyes stretched when he looked up at you from the pillow was so memorable, that you still think about it today.

            (You didn’t make another mess that night though; you were both too worn out. Not physically. Just by each other. He cleaned you up and then you fell asleep on top of him as usual.)

            But that first night certainly boosted Yuuri’s confidence. His confidence around you, that is – his confidence around you, _like that_ , that is.

            Yuuri is insatiable sometimes, but he isn’t exactly inappropriate. He can wait until you get back to your hotel room or his place or wherever it is that you have actual privacy, but his eyes follow you everywhere the instant he’s struck his final pose, and you have to pretend you can’t tell. You don’t do a very good job pretending though, because you tend to return the gaze with an equally suggestive one, often daring him to do something publicly, which you’re nervous he might actually do one day. Sometimes you wonder if you should beat him to it, but you don’t want Yuuri to think that you’re that person – even if you are, even if he already does. You want him to know you’re serious. You have a wild imagination and extensive list of things you want to do to and with his body, but you don’t want anyone else to know that.

            Not because you’re ashamed. Because it’s none of their business.

            It’s not anyone else’s business _who_ you let steal you away from the rest of the world.

            Yuuri makes you feel more confident. Anyone who can’t tell how much of a back and forth exists between the two of you is a fool. You might not be perfect at reading each other all the time, but the will is there and that’s all you need.

            Maybe this is a bubble. Maybe this intensity will go away after a while. Maybe the feelings between the two of you will turn more muted, more assumed and passive; maybe you won’t need to express them quite so fervently eventually.

            People used to talk about the bubble like it was a bad thing. You’d never experienced it before so you took them at their word.

            You’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anything more than to feel so confident about Yuuri that you don’t need to tell him about it every day.

            The thought of Yuuri kissing you gently because he kisses you every day makes your heart race. You’ve never been one for those kinds of theatric, but the idea of domesticity is suddenly the most exciting fantasy you’ve ever had.

            But part of you knows – even when you get there; even when you and Yuuri are secure and confident and content… he’s still going to get so worked up at times that all he can do is grab your hair and kiss you, then bite down on his lower lip as you run your hands down his body, sliding down slowly to your knees and pulling down his sweatpants. Even when Yuuri loses – even when he doesn’t do his best, even when he’s glaring at the judges and then at the floor, silent and introspective and angry – somehow you still end up on your knees in front of him once you’re alone. And he never takes it out on you. In fact, it’s more like you’re taking something out on him.

            Even when he falls, he skates so beautifully that it crosses over into something else. You have to be close to him afterwards; you have to do something that makes you feel like you get to please him and him alone.

            You like taking his dick in your mouth. You like holding him in place by his hips and keeping all your clothes on. You like sucking him off so much that it’s almost become muscle memory. You like that no matter how many times you do it, he still acts surprised, or like he doesn’t deserve it, or like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Though, to be fair, you like it even more when he thinks he _does_ deserve it. You like it when he gets a little rough and self-congratulatory. You like that Yuuri. You like that Yuuri a lot.

            A post-performance blowjob has almost become tradition, and if you were still insecure about disgusting him with that, you’d be more embarrassed. But he loves it when you crawl over to him on all fours, or sidle against the wall toward him, trying to the attention of how badly he wants you even in a crowd of people. He loves that you want it. He loves you being uninhibited.

            When you mentioned it to him, he seemed dumbfounded.

            “Why would I get grossed out when I’m the one who wants to have sex with you?”

            You didn’t have an answer for that. There was too much logic to it that you had never considered. You got confused and frowned at him. He pulled your face toward him and kissed you deeply.

            “I still think about the day you stroked my face,” he murmured at you seductively. “Your finger under my chin, your lips at my ear. I was so nervous. Remember how I ran away? I don’t want to run away anymore.”

            Maybe sometime in the future, you will tell Yuuri exactly what those words meant to you, because your face turned into an expression you’d never made. You didn’t have the words at the time, so you just kissed him back and then pushed down on the bench to kiss him more. No one was around, but it was the first very public kiss you’d ever had.

            When you pulled away, it didn’t feel like theatrics. You weren’t showing off to Yuuri, hoping to satisfy his thirst for you. You’d never known that feeling before Yuuri; the one where you weren’t kissing someone because they wanted you to and you couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing them. You didn’t kiss Yuuri for a reputation. And Yuuri didn’t kiss you for bragging rights.

            You wanted to kiss Yuuri in front of everyone because you wanted them all to understand. Yuuri _had_ stolen you away from them. And they _should_ hate him for it. Because he was the first one to understand. He was the first one you wanted to belong to.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [xposted](https://fictornikiforov.tumblr.com/post/154348463645/autumnal-info-below-the-cutmore-4416-words) to my yoi fic tumblr, which also has commission info on it if you are so inclined


End file.
